Unintended Consequences
by zgirnius
Summary: Snape has finished school and has a job. This story describes some things that befall him in the period before the fall of Voldemort. This story was written between HBP and DH. It is now AU.
1. The Apothecary's Assistant

**Chapter 1: The Apothecary's Assistant**

Severus Snape sat on a high wooden stool, hunched over a pair of bubbling cauldrons. He stirred the cauldron on the right steadily, remembering to add a clockwise stir after each dozen counter-clockwise turns of his wand. Every once in a while, he switched his attention to the cauldron on the left, and added another pinch of the dried, chopped violets piled neatly on the worn wooden surface of the worktable next to the cauldron. The sallow skin of his face glistened from a thin sheen of sweat, for despite the cool, rainy October day outside, the windowless room in which he was working was uncomfortably stuffy from the heat of the flames and the fumes of the potions.

He hoped Madam Sophronia would not walk in. The flowers were a strictly non-regulation ingredient for the Strengthening Solution, but he had discovered they increased the shelf life of the finished potion considerably while adding a beneficial analgesic effect. His employer, however, did not set any store by his discoveries. His black eyes flashed as he remembered the time, a couple of months ago, when she had made him brew a new batch of Euphoria from scratch after happening to come in when he was adding peppermint to it. He had reeled off a sound theoretical explanation of the reasons peppermint would lessen the most common side effects of Euphoria, but it had fallen on deaf ears.

He supposed he should just make the potions her way, but he couldn't accept it. It seemed wrong to use a less efficient process, or to use ingredients which resulted in an inferior final product. If one was going to make a potion at all, one should make the best potion possible.

NEWTs and book learning did not matter very much in Knockturn Alley, he knew. His Outstanding NEWT in Potions made him more than qualified for this job, but he knew that was not why Madam Sophronia had hired him. That piece of paper from the Ministry meant nothing; the fact that he was the grandson of Airmid Prince, whose potions were well-regarded throughout Knockturn Alley, meant everything.

His lips twisted into a bitter smile as he reflected that in this regard, Knockturn Alley was not much different from the Ministry of Magic. His assortment of NEWTs had not yet gotten him a post over candidates with lower grades and better Wizarding family connections. Even the Death Eaters were less selective. Unfortunately for him.

He had become a Death Eater about a year ago, and his duties mostly involved brewing Potions. Almost like his day job, without the pay. Although the infrequent odd jobs involving unique cursed items or other applications of Dark Magic could be quite interesting. Occasionally, because of his low profile, he would also be assigned to surveillance, as he had been the night he overheard a candidate for the post of Divination Professor make a prophecy in front of Albus Dumbledore.

He recalled the one and only raid he had been on, shortly after he had reported the prophecy. A test of his courage and his loyalty, he had been told, that all Death Eaters had to pass. He suspected the assignment had at least as much to do with the fact that he had been caught eavesdropping on Albus Dumbledore while on duty.

The target had been a young witch, a pureblood, not at all powerful or pretty, just having the bad luck to have relatives who had angered the Dark Lord. Letitia McKinnon, that was her name. He doubted he would ever forget her face, either. She had been no threat to them, or to anyone else. The others, whose duties involved participating in such raids regularly, had been happy to attend to the torture and killing themselves, he had just watched. He had said nothing and done nothing, knowing that to do otherwise would be to meet her fate. He had been fervently grateful for the mask he wore, which had hidden not only his identity but also his feelings from the others. It was a test he had passed, with flying colors. He was a coward, and that would keep him loyal to the Dark Lord, come what may.

He realized abruptly that he had no idea how many counter-clockwise turns he had made. Another advantage of his job, the close attention potion making required served to keep out other thoughts, most of the time.

Suddenly, the door from the shop creaked open. Snape cursed under his breath; the last of the dried violets were still piled before the nearly finished cauldron of Strengthening Solution. His employer was supposed to have been busy with her weekly inventory of the front room of the shop for at least another couple of hours.

Straightening, he pushed his damp, shoulder-length black hair back from his face and turned to look towards the door. It was indeed his employer, a very short, plump little witch. The mass of snow-white hair piled high under an enormous, fruit-bedecked hat in a style that had been popular among Muggles about a century ago only served to make her seem even shorter. Her beady black eyes and wrinkled face were positively glowing.

"Hello, Severus! We just got a large order today," she explained, rubbing her claw like hands together. Her voice dropping to a whisper, she added "Veritaserum antidote." This explained her good mood, Snape realized. Veritaserum and its antidote were Ministry-controlled substances, illegal to make, let alone sell, without the appropriate licenses. Licenses could only be obtained by persons willing to explain their need to make such a potion. Persons not willing to explain their need for it could be expected to pay a large premium to preserve their privacy.

"I'll have to check on our stocks of moonflower," Snape said. "When will they need it?"

"As soon as possible, he said," she responded. Snape got up from the stool and walked over to the storage shelves. Rolling the ladder up to the right spot, he climbed up and opened the appropriate jar.

"If he needs more than a couple of vials, we don't have enough," Snape told her. Looking down, he saw she had walked over to his worktable and was standing on her tiptoes to peer into the cauldron.

"I'll run out and see if I can't buy some this afternoon; it would be good for us to make a start on it today," she responded. "But what are you doing with the Strengthening Solution? You know I don't like these newfangled ideas," she added with a frown. Snape climbed down from the ladder and walked over.

"If you add violets in the final stage of the brewing process, the finished potion retains its effectiveness for a couple of months, and can help to ward off aches and pains," Snape explained. "This is the batch for St. Mungo's. They could really use that."

"Severus, I am generally more than pleased with the quality of your work, you know that," she said, her voice rising in exasperation. "But I have made it quite clear you are to use the _standard_ recipes in my workshop. You'll just have to brew up a new batch for St. Mungo's this evening, is all. They are a regular client and I will not risk disappointing them. Hold on to what you've made, though. If it really does keep, maybe we can bottle some to keep on the shelves out front."

"Yes, Ma'am," Snape said disgustedly.

"Well, I'm off," she said, bustling back out towards the front room. As she left, she turned back. "I'll leave the door open while I am out shopping. You'll have to attend to any customers who happen by while I am away."

"Yes, Madam Sophronia," Snape agreed, sitting back down on his stool.

The remainder of the afternoon passed uneventfully. Snape finished the two potions he had been working on and poured them into bottles neatly labeled with the name and date. He sold a few bottles of off-the-shelf potions to customers who, for whatever reason, preferred to shop at Madam Sophronia's instead of the larger, more popular apothecary shops of Diagon Alley. He looked over the potions in various stages of long-term brewing to be sure they had all the ingredients and stirring they needed for the night.

Finally, he got the containers of ingredients for the Veritaserum antidote off the high storage shelves. As he was measuring out dried, powdered newt skin using the small copper scales, his employer came bustling back into the workshop.

"Here're the moonflowers…Oh, I see you're starting already. Excellent, I'll just go and shut up the shop, and then join you." She dropped a few parcels on the table next to Snape and bustled back out.

She returned shortly, now hatless and wearing a large, leather apron over her fancy, old-fashioned robes. As Snape continued his preparations, she started a magical fire on the worktable and with expert flicks of her wand, set up a huge cauldron far too heavy for her to lift above it. Standing up on another stool, she started adding the ingredients Snape handed up to her, humming a sentimental-sounding tune Snape did not recall ever hearing before under her breath.

In the two years he had been working at the shop, Snape had gradually taken over most of the potion making from her. He supposed it was the importance of the unknown customer that led her to involve herself in the making of this batch. A loud banging on the back door of the workroom interrupted his thoughts.

"Merlin's beard and whiskers!" exclaimed Madam Sophronia, hopping down from the stool with agility surprising in a woman of her years, as Snape hastily drew his wand. Knockturn Alley was actually surprisingly safe for its shop-owners, since the more dangerous denizens relied on their services, but both he and his employer had their reasons to fear the Ministry.

"Severus, you just be ready to Vanish that mess on my signal," she hissed as she bustled over to the door to peer through the peephole. As she fumbled with the deadbolt, a relieved smile replaced her worried frown. Snape relaxed. To his surprise, the door opened to reveal Lucius Malfoy, dressed as always in immaculately-cut dark robes that set off the perfectly groomed silver-blond hair that fell over his shoulders.

"Please, step right in, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Sophronia said, bobbing her head respectfully. "How may I help you? Did you forget something earlier today?"

"Madam Sophronia," Lucius acknowledged her as he stepped into the workroom, his cold grey eyes resting for a moment on the enormous cauldron and piles of ingredients on the worktable. "I see you are already working on my order. I hope this means it would not inconvenience you if I absconded with your assistant."

"You mean Mr. Snape?" she asked, puzzled.

"Severus and I are old school friends, Madam Sophronia," Lucius replied smoothly. "My wife and I had our first child in June, and the baby is crying every night. You know how mothers are. She is convinced a potion Severus once mentioned to her is just what little Draco needs, and she must have it."

"Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy!" she said. "Of course Severus will be of help. I am fortunate to have hired such a talented assistant." Turning to Snape, she added with a broad smile, "I can close up on my own tonight, Severus."

"Good night then, Madam," said Lucius, stepping back outside

"Thank you, Madam Sophronia," said Snape, grabbing the long black cloak that hung from a peg near the door.

As he started out the door, she grasped his arm and hissed, "Tomorrow morning, take the Strengthening Solution you made to St. Mungo's, I'm sure it will be fine." She let his arm fall.

Suppressing the urge to make a sarcastic remark, he said simply, "Good night!"

"Good night, Severus!" she caroled as he joined Lucius in the back alley. After the door closed behind him Snape heard her start singing the old song she had been humming all evening. Lucius looked around him at the narrow, detritus-strewn alleyway, his nose wrinkling in aristocratic disapproval.

"I want to get away from here. Shall we Apparate to my place?" Lucius suggested.

"Very well, Lucius," Snape agreed, swinging the black cloak on around his shoulders. Lucius Disapparated with a small pop and Snape followed.


	2. A Visit with the Malfoys

**Chapter 2: A Visit with the Malfoys**

As the familiar, crushing sensation of Apparition receded, Snape appeared next to Lucius in front of the ornate wrought iron gates to Malfoy Manor. Lucius flicked his wand at them, and they opened wide. Together, Snape and Malfoy strode through the gates, which closed silently behind them. The wide, graveled walkway that led to the front entrance of the manor was lit by lanterns hung at regular intervals.

"The least I can do after that performance is to give Narcissa that recipe, Lucius," Snape said as they walked. "In five minutes you have radically improved my standing with my employer. I hope you at least need that Veritaserum antidote," he added with a smile.

"Indeed I do. The Dark Lord's business, Severus. But you are quite right, I chose the time and place with you in mind."

"Narcissa must be beside herself, if this could not be handled by owl," Snape said.

"Not really. I wanted to invite you here anyway, Severus, to discuss some matters of interest," Lucius said. Ah, yes. Letting Sophronia know he had friends who could place large orders with her was worth more than a potion recipe for a baby, Snape thought.

They had reached the stone steps leading up to the main entrance. As Lucius's foot grazed the first step, the heavy wooden doors to the manor opened to reveal Dobby, the Malfoys' house elf, dressed in a tastefully monogrammed satin pillowcase. Bowing so low that his thin, pencil-like nose nearly grazed the floor, he beckoned Snape and Lucius inside.

"Master is home!" the elf exclaimed in a squeaky voice. "Dobby welcomes Master's honored guest to Malfoy Manor. My Mistress is asking the respected sirs to please join her in the library."

"Yes, Dobby," Lucius said in a bored drawl, tossing his cloak onto one of a series of busts atop marble pillars that decorated the vast entrance hallway. It hung for a moment, and then slowly began to slide down.

Dobby's green eyes, already as large as tennis balls, seemed improbably to widen further in fear, as he scurried to snatch up the cloak before any part of it touched the floor. As the elf folded it carefully, Snape slowly took off his own, handing it to Dobby just as he finished with Lucius's.

"Thank you, sir, Dobby will put it in the cloakroom, sir," said the elf, bobbing up and down at Snape.

"Make it quick," said Lucius impatiently. "We'll want whisky in the library, you know the barrel I mean," he added, striding forward. Dobby jumped out of his way, barely avoiding being bowled over. Snape stepped around him and followed Lucius.

"You really need to get used to house elves, Severus," Lucius said with a sneer. "Lazy, tricky, annoying creatures, unless they are managed with a firm hand."

"Single rooms in Knockturn Alley boarding houses don't come with House Elves, Lucius," Snape said with a wry smile, deflecting the criticism.

"True," Lucius agreed, as they reached the library. He gestured to let his guest pass in first.

At the far end of the room, a large fire crackled merrily, dispelling the chill of the damp autumn night. Narcissa was sitting in a large, upholstered armchair by the fire, her long blonde hair gleaming redly in the firelight. Her face glowed, and she wore a smile of peaceful contentment as she leaned over the sleeping form of baby Draco.

Narcissa rose smoothly, cradling the baby, one finger raised to her lips. "I just finished feeding him, and he fell asleep," she whispered, displaying Draco to his father. Lucius's grey eyes softened a bit. "I'll just put him down and come back," she finished. As she passed out the doorway, she smiled up at Lucius, and waved a hand casually at Snape.

Dobby appeared through another door, bearing a crystal decanter of whisky and three matching crystal glasses on a heavy silver tray. He set them down on Lucius's large desk, and then bowed deeply.

"Your whisky, Master," he squeaked. Lucius waved dismissal, and Dobby scurried back out.

Snape followed Lucius over to the desk.

"It seems Draco is sleeping well, tonight," Snape observed.

"The problems start after midnight," Lucius said, sighing with irritation.

"Have you a blank parchment?" Snape asked. Lucius opened a drawer and rummaged around, before laying a piece of parchment on the table. Snape picked up the large black quill lying on the blotter and dipped it into the ornately decorated silver inkpot nearby. Leaning over the desk, he quickly scribbled the recipe down.

"This baby potion is one of your recipes?" Lucius asked with a supercilious smile as he handed Snape a glass.

"No," Snape replied, straightening. "It was one of my grandmother's signature potions. You'll appreciate it once you've tried it on Draco, believe me." He took the offered glass of whisky.

"The Dark Lord," said Lucius, raising his glass.

"The Dark Lord," Snape responded with a nod, sipping the whisky. Apparently, Lucius was in a celebratory mood; this was even better than the whisky usually served at Malfoy Manor. Lucius sat down in one of the leather-upholstered chairs grouped in front of the desk. Snape joined him.

"As I mentioned, I did not invite you here just for Narcissa," Lucius began, pausing to take a drink of his whisky. Snape sat silently, waiting. What did Lucius want? The favor had certainly been a handsome one.

"It has been well over a year since you accepted the invitation," Lucius said.

"So it has," Snape agreed with a nod of his head. It was as Lucius's protégé that he had been introduced into the Death Eaters, he knew. A circumstance that had become in Snape's mind a mark _against_ Lucius, over the past months.

"You have done well, Severus."

"I have tried, at any rate," said Snape.

"Ah yes, you refer to your misfortune with the prophecy. I know all about it," Lucius said smoothly. "You see, Bellatrix came by for a visit this afternoon. She had some very interesting news."

"Indeed?" Snape asked neutrally. He and Malfoy's sister-in-law did not get along well.

"It affects you, Severus," said Lucius. "The Dark Lord is pleased, very pleased. The prophecy that you were apprehended trying to overhear, it turns out, has truth to it. Two boys were born who might be the one, and as further confirmation of their importance, Albus Dumbledore has already hidden both families."

"For the time being, it hardly matters," Snape said, feeling slightly queasy. He had hoped the prophecy incident was behind him…"After all, neither of the babies will be doing anything of interest for many years."

"Oh, it gets better, Severus," Lucius said with a smile, taking a sip of his whisky. "You see, it seems the Dark Lord has turned someone close to one of the families, and we know where they are hidden."

"How fortunate," said Snape silkily, his stomach churning. "So your sister-in-law has become a spymaster, then? I would have thought her a trifle…impatient, for such duties." He took a sip from his glass. Lucius laughed.

"You are becoming a diplomat, Severus," he said. With a curl of his lip, he continued, "No, subtlety is not a strong suit of Bellatrix's. She is leading the team that will pay the family a little visit, a far wiser use of her talents."

Snape's imagination supplied a sudden, horrific image of Letitia McKinnon, sitting placidly with a smile just like Narcissa's, and a sleeping baby just like Draco in her arms, as Bellatrix approached. Letitia had, of course, never lived long enough to have a baby of her own…but some unknown woman and her baby would be meeting the same fate because of him. He took another sip from his glass and leaned back in his chair, fighting to appear calm.

"As you say, a far better use of her talents," Snape agreed.

"Bellatrix is, of course, delighted with this sign of the Dark Lord's favor," Lucius sneered. "But I have reminded the Dark Lord who brought him the news. He knows what is most important; he has not forgotten your contribution."

Ah, so he was now playing the role of a pawn in Lucius and Bellatrix's continuing game of one-upsmanship, Snape realized disgustedly. Lucius did not lead raids, but he had laid his claim to a share of the credit by making sure the Dark Lord recalled that his protégé had heard the prophecy in the first place.

"So I have this to thank you for as well, Lucius," Snape said, with a grin he hoped was not sardonic. He remained, and always would remain, as loyal a Death Eater as he needed to be. However, Letitia McKinnon's fate had convinced him that he preferred to stay as far away from the Dark Lord as a loyal Death Eater could manage.

"It is always a pleasure to help a deserving friend succeed," Lucius said, with a gracious smile. As Snape struggled to find a suitable response to this fatuous expression of noblesse oblige, he suddenly felt a searing pain in his left forearm. Lucius, to Snape's surprise, seemed oblivious. Hastily, Snape stood up.

"Please present my apologies to Narcissa, along with the recipe, Lucius. I have been summoned," he explained. Lucius snapped his fingers.

"Dobby, Severus's cloak!" he said loudly, as he, too, rose. "Well, it seems the Dark Lord wishes to express his appreciation in person, Severus."

With a sharp crack, Dobby appeared, holding the neatly folded cloak. He bowed deeply and handed it to Snape.

"Good night, Severus. Remember, you will need to pass the gates before you Apparate."

"Good night, Lucius," Snape said, hastening towards the door. He had no wish to be any later than he could manage for his next meeting.


	3. A Fitting Reward

**Chapter 3: A Fitting Reward**

As always, when answering a summons by the Dark Lord, Snape did not know where he would find himself when he Apparated. This time, he opened his eyes outside an old, deserted barn. Snape raised his hood over his head, then drew his wand and conjured up a mask to wear inside. As he waved the wand at the heavy, rusted door, it opened with a loud groan. Taking a deep breath, he walked inside. Behind him, he heard a pair of loud pops, as two other stragglers arrived.

Balls of magical flame floating just below the roof lit the interior of the barn. In the dim, green light they cast, Snape saw that only about ten others were present. Not surprising, since he knew Lucius had not received a summons. He strode over to stand in the circle. As the other two stragglers took their places, silence fell. Then the Dark Lord appeared suddenly in their midst.

Snape dropped to his knees, as did the others. The rustling of robes and murmurs of "Master" and "My Lord" broke the quiet.

"Ah, all are now here," said Voldemort. "I have called you, a select few, here tonight for a purpose. Almost a year ago, a prophecy was made that a child with special powers would be born to my enemies. I have discovered his name. Your mission will be to kill the child and his parents, before he can grow to be a nuisance to us."

Voldemort strode over to a group of eight Death Eaters. Facing the one who was kneeling in front of the others, he said, "I have chosen you to lead the mission. Make the necessary preparations and plans, and have your team assemble here again tomorrow night. You know where to lead them." The slender figure rose and bowed gracefully.

"They will die, Master," she said. It was unmistakably, as Lucius had said, the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Voldemort approached a second, smaller group of three Death Eaters. "You three will also go. The mission may require your skills." The three also rose and bowed.

Finally, Voldemort walked up to Snape.

"And you," he said, stopping in front of Snape.

It would not be much different from the McKinnon raid, Snape told himself. They would be a round dozen against two-surely his role would, again, be that of accomplice.

"I am honored to be chosen, Master," Snape responded smoothly. His voice, at least, he had under control. His stomach was churning, though. Voldemort was a powerful Legilimens. Ever since the McKinnon raid, Snape feared to be near him, lest he sense Snape's reluctance.

"You have served me well," Voldemort continued, "for it was you who brought me word of this potential threat. It is fitting that you be there when that threat is eliminated." Snape did not like the sound of that. What if Voldemort wanted him to eliminate the baby personally? He abruptly remembered Letitia McKinnon, shortly before her death. She had been begging them to kill her, her voice hoarse from screaming. Yes, he could kill the baby, he decided. Anything it took, to avoid that.

"Indeed, I mean it to be not just an honor, but also a reward for your service. For the father of the child is not only my enemy, but also an old enemy of yours. If you wish, you may be the one to kill James Potter personally," Voldemort concluded.

Snape was thunderstruck. The Potters were the parents of the prophecy child? He knelt, gaping at the Dark Lord for a moment, incapable of speech. Not Letitia, not some unknown young woman, but Lily, was the mother of the baby?

"What…what a surprise, Master," he managed to stammer out. Gathering his scattered wits about him, he rose to his feet and bowed deeply.

"I thank you, My Lord," he added.

"Very well, that concludes our business. Report here tomorrow at ten for your instructions. I await the report of your success tomorrow night," said Voldemort. Snape dropped to his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robe, and retreated to the doorway to leave.

As he walked out, Bellatrix grasped his upper arm. He resisted a furious urge to throw her off and draw his wand. His distress demanded a target, but starting a duel while others were still taking their leave of the Dark Lord was not going to change anything for the better. Instead, he relaxed in her grip.

"Severus," Bellatrix said, "I didn't choose you for my team. So you had better not cause any problems, understand?"

"You know how highly the Dark Lord values Lucius's suggestions," Snape replied silkily. "You will simply have to work with me, for the good of the cause."

The reminder of Lucius's influence did not sit well with her, apparently. She dropped her hand angrily.

"Tomorrow at ten, then, Bellatrix," Snape said, before he spun on his heel and Disapparated.

He appeared, with a quiet pop, in his lodgings at Knockturn Alley. He tore the mask from his face and threw it across the room. Removing his cloak, he bunched it together and heaved it at the age-worn ladder-back chair next to the desk in the far corner. The force of the throw knocked the chair down with a clatter that did nothing to assuage his emotional turmoil. With a wordless cry, he flopped down on the edge of his bed, and stared across the room at the bookshelves on the opposite wall.

Lily. The baby was Lily's son. He recalled his feelings after the murder of Letitia McKinnon: the revulsion he'd felt at himself for having been a part of it, the shame, that he had voluntarily sworn himself to a monster who would send others to do such things for absolutely no reason, and the knowledge of his own cowardice. That, with his new understanding of just how wrong a choice it had been to become a Death Eater, he would still do nothing. He had wondered, then, whether he could live with himself anymore. Over time, he had learned, to his disgust, that he could.

Would tomorrow really be any different? He wasn't even needed, he told himself. With him, they were a dozen, against only two. Bellatrix, he had to admit, was a competent leader. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Surely if he could live with one murder on his conscience, he could live with four. Snape buried his head in his hands, his fingers unconsciously twining in the long, dark strands of hair that fell across his face.

But, Lily. Lily Evans. Leaning over a cauldron a few seats away from his, her beautiful face obscured partly by the fall of her dark red hair, suddenly turning towards him with a mischievous smile and winking, as she crumbled a sprig of peppermint into the Euphoria she was brewing. In the library, collapsing in gales of laughter as she read the note he had made in his book about Golpalott's Third Law. Outside in springtime, those eyes flashing, more brilliantly green than the fresh new leaves on the trees, as she confronted the boy she would marry on behalf of a nobody she barely knew.

Snape sat up. His hands had clenched themselves into fists and pulled painfully at his hair as he did so, but he did not care. He deserved the pain. Lily was the only person, aside from his mother, who had ever been kind to him with no thought of what advantage it might bring to her. Even after he had spit on her initial gift of kindness, because, coward that he was, he would not be seen by his housemates accepting the assistance of a Muggle-born girl. She had walked away from him, then. She should have kept walking. Now, here he was, about to participate in her murder, out of fear of those he called friends. She would not be coming back again.

He remembered last seeing her, in April it had been, while running an errand in Diagon Alley. Seeing her obviously pregnant with James's child, he had sought to avoid her, but she had crossed the street to talk to him, wanting to share her excitement about her impending motherhood. She had remembered where he was working from a previous chance meeting, and had seemed genuinely to care how he found it. She had chuckled over the 'ruined' batch of Euphoria, her old trick. They could not have talked for more than ten minutes, but it had brightened his mood for days afterward.

To her, he had never been, and would never be, more than 'just a friend'. Of course, a mere friend of Lily's could be sure she would not break into his home with a group of his enemies to kill him. Something, alas, Snape's beloved could not count on. He twisted his features into a horrible grimace, but the feelings rising within him burst forth in a shuddering sob.

Angered by his weakness, he propelled himself up from the bed and paced over to the window opposite the door to the room, and then back to the door. After a few of trips back and forth, his breathing grew more regular. Alongside his revulsion at what he had become, a resolve was growing that this final atrocity was one he would not commit.

But how to avoid it? He could flee, but they would eventually find him; more to the point, to flee now would be to doom Lily and her family as surely as if he had killed them himself. He had already marked them for death. To warn her first, that would be the thing. Unfortunately, Lucius had said that the Potters were in hiding. He would certainly fail to find them, with less than a day to do it. It seemed that only Bellatrix among the Death Eaters knew of their location, and she would not divulge it to him.

He could send Lily an owl! Would she believe him, though? He would have to reveal the source of his knowledge. At the least, he would have to admit that he was a Death Eater. She might, actually, and the thought of it cheered him even in the midst of his crisis. However, she would be wrong to, Potter would be sure to point it out. It could be a ruse, to draw them out. Even if he seemed sincere, he could be under Imperius…

Well, perhaps he could rescue her. That thought brought bitter laughter to his lips. Oh, sure. He could fight off eleven Death Eaters. Of course, she and Potter would join the fray, but there was the baby to protect, as well…no. It would rid the world of a few very unpleasant Death Eaters, but the Potters would all end up quite dead at the end, and it would solve all of his problems in the most permanent way imaginable. Yes, dying with Lily would be preferable to killing her, but Snape wanted her to live.

He needed to clear his head. There had to be a way, there just had to. He would find it.

Opening his door, Snape walked out and down the three creaky flights of stairs to the entrance foyer of the boarding house. The hag watching the front entrance barely glanced up as he walked by; she was engrossed in her copy of "Witch Weekly".

It was quite chilly, and a light drizzle was falling. Snape realized he had left his cloak upstairs. Perhaps the cold would help keep him alert as he thought through the problem.

The heavy clouds overhead blocked out the light of moon and stars, so the street was almost pitch black. Snape pulled out his wand and cast a silent Lumos. He did not need to sprain an ankle on the detritus one might encounter in Knockturn Alley, on top of his other problems.

Walking briskly down the street, he reviewed the options he had discarded. Flee- useless. He had already ensured that Lily was a marked woman. Warn Lily- not a reliable option in the limited time available. Protect Lily - Snape smiled bitterly. Not unless he could transform into the Dark Lord or Albus Dumbledore…Snape halted abruptly.

Dumbledore was powerful enough! He had considerable resources at his disposal, as leader of the Order or the Phoenix, and from what Lucius had told him, he was already taking an interest in the Potters' safety. It would be necessary to convince him of the danger, but Snape could do it.

Dumbledore had seen him the night he had heard the prophecy – if Dumbledore thought his reason for meeting was related to that prophecy, he would agree to see him. The Headmaster would have no trouble believing he had become a Death Eater – he had never expected anything worthwhile to come of Snape, he had made that clear enough at school. The prophecy, though, should ensure that Dumbledore would hear him out before turning him over to the Aurors. Unlike the Potters, Dumbledore was also easy to find. He was bound to be at Hogwarts.

He had been right, too, Snape admitted to himself. It was a thought he would have to learn to live with, in Azkaban. The Dementors would doubtless let him keep it. He shuddered, and knew it was not the cold night air that had caused it. Still better, he told himself, than learning to live with memories of his own participation in Lily's murder.

His decision made, Snape hastened back to his room. Tossing his rumpled cloak onto his bed, he picked up his fallen chair and seated himself at his desk. From one of the drawers, he extracted a fresh piece of parchment and laid it out in front of him. After a couple of moments' thought, he dipped his quill into the inkpot and began to write a note in his best handwriting:

_Dear Professor Dumbledore:_

_A matter has come to my attention that I believe to be of considerable interest to you, related to our last meeting. I am therefore taking the liberty of writing to request a few minutes of your time today (Wednesday) during business hours so that I might discuss it with you. It is urgent, else I would not presume to request an appointment with so little advance notice._

_I am entirely at your disposal. Please indicate the time and place of your choice by return owl to my Hogsmeade Post Office Box (Number 773). (As I reside in London, an owl to me is likely to arrive too late). You may rely upon my attendance._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_

Snape waited impatiently for the ink to dry, before folding the parchment carefully to place it inside an envelope. He sealed it, and then addressed it to Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hogsmeade, Scotland. Snatching the envelope up, he walked back down to the entrance. The hag eyed him with disfavor as he stopped in front of the overstuffed chair in which she was sitting.

"Mrs. Hartsock, I wondered if I might make use of your owl this evening," he inquired.

"Evenin'?" she cackled, setting down her magazine. "It's bleedin' two o'clock in the A. M., it is!"

"Indeed," Snape agreed, reining in his impatience. "Might I borrow your owl now?"

"Arr, the pore thing needs her sleep," said Mrs. Hartsock, composing her features into a maudlin expression of pity. Snape refrained from pointing out to the hag the obvious fact that owls are nocturnal creatures. He recognized an opening move in a bout of haggling when he heard one.

"The boarder next door mentioned once that you let him send a letter for a Galleon. Since it is so late, could we agree to a Galleon, three Sickles?" Snape asked.

"Make it a Galleon, eight Sickles, and you have a deal," Mrs. Hartsock countered.

"Done, thank you, Mrs. Hartsock," said Snape, digging for the coins in his pockets. He handed them to her, and then added obligingly, "No need to bother yourself to get her for me…I believe I've seen her in the attic, where you have been kind enough to let me store my trunks?" For an additional fee, he did not add.

"That's right. You can let her right out the winder," the hag said, looking pleased to have avoided a trip up to the attic. She picked up the article on beauty advice and resumed her reading. Snape was also quite pleased with how this had gone. He rather doubted the landlady's owl would make it from London to Hogwarts by morning.

"Good night," he said politely to the cover of the magazine. He strode to the back stairwell and walked up the five flights of stairs to the attic. Sure enough, the owl was where he had remembered seeing it, its cage hanging in front of a dormer window with a view of Knockturn Alley. Taking the entire cage down from its hook, he focused and Disapparated, with a rather louder bang than he would have preferred. If asked, he could always claim to have bumped into something; the attic was certainly disorderly enough to make that story credible. Although, one of the charms of life in Knockturn Alley tended to be that the neighbors did not ask those sorts of questions very often.

He reappeared, as planned, on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Quickly he let the owl out and tied the letter to her leg, then released her. As she flew away, he Apparated back to the attic and replaced the cage on its hook. He unlatched the window, so that the owl would be able to get back in when it made the trip back.

Returning to his room, Snape started to plan his day. The Hogsmeade Owl Post Office would be opening at seven, in little more than four hours. He would check for a response then. Madam Sophronia might find it odd, but he could make short disappearances throughout the morning. What if he received no response, though?

If he had no response by eleven, or was turned down, he would simply show up at Hogwarts, he decided. Even if the Headmaster did not open his mail until after breakfast, he was sure to have seen his note by ten or so. How he would talk his way into the office he did not know, but he would. He had to.


	4. The Mysterious Appointment

**Chapter 4: The Mysterious Appointment**

Professor Albus Dumbledore sat at the large desk in the Headmaster's office, his forehead furrowed as he skimmed over a parchment requiring his signature that his deputy Professor McGonagall had sent up. Golden afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the window, and Fawkes, the Headmaster's phoenix companion, was sunning himself on his perch, his eyes closed. Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door.

Glancing at the watch with twelve hands that was lying on the desk beside his inkpot, Dumbledore realized it was later than he had thought. Time, already, for the mysterious appointment he had agreed to this morning. This ought to prove more interesting than the details of the start-of-term budget…

"Come right in," called Dumbledore, looking up from the parchment. He glanced around quickly to ascertain that the dead Headmasters and Headmistresses were all drowsing in their portraits, as was their habit in the afternoon. To his satisfaction, they were. He cast a quick charm to make sure they stayed that way. Given the identity of his visitor, he suspected the matter under discussion would be the Trelawney Prophecy. _That_ was a secret he dearly wanted kept.

The heavy oaken door opened, and a figure clad in black robes stepped in. It was Severus Snape, right on time. His greasy black hair, as always, was parted in curtains that fell on either side of his sallow face, with its hooked nose and dark eyes. But for a hint of stubble on his chin, he might almost have been the boy Dumbledore remembered facing in his office, some four years ago. His eyes were not flashing with anger today, though, Dumbledore noted. He did not look like he had slept well, if at all, the night before.

Snape halted at the doorway. An emotion that might have been uncertainty flickered in those cold, dark eyes.

"Good afternoon, Severus," said Dumbledore, smiling encouragingly. He waved, indicating a chair in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat."

Snape seemed relieved to be offered a seat. As he walked into the office, Dumbledore saw that he retained the twitchy movements of the schoolboy he had recently been. As Snape stopped for a moment in front of the desk, he reached into his robes and drew forth his wand. Dumbledore did not react, though he raised an eyebrow as Snape placed the wand firmly on the desk.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Professor," Snape replied, as he stepped back from the desk and sat in the indicated chair.

"May I offer you a drink?" asked Dumbledore cordially.

"No," responded Snape shortly, and then added awkwardly, "Thank you." The few years out of school, Dumbledore thought, had not added much social polish to Snape.

"So, Severus, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" he asked.

"There is something I must tell you," Snape began.

"Yes? Do go on," encouraged the Headmaster.

"Last winter, when you were interviewing for the Divination post…" Snape broke off. Dumbledore regarded him calmly over his half-moon glasses, clear blue eyes fixed on his face. Resolutely Snape raised his chin and made eye contact with Dumbledore.

"I heard part of the prophecy made by Professor Trelawney," he said flatly.

"I suspected as much when the barman recounted your escape," Dumbledore replied gravely.

"I immediately reported it to the Dark Lord. You see, I am a Death Eater," he said. As he spoke, Snape bared his left forearm, revealing a brand of the serpent and skull symbol that marked him as a member of Voldemort's inner circle of followers.

Dumbledore's heart sank at the sight. This, he had not suspected. He knew that Voldemort liked to recruit them young, but he always hated it when he learned that he had lost yet another one. Not to mention…what did Voldemort know, now?

"But this would seem, pardon me, more a matter for the Auror office," Dumbledore said quietly, having quickly composed himself after the shock.

"I expect you will call them, after," Snape agreed, his glance falling briefly on the wand he had placed on the Headmaster's desk. Dumbledore saw that a visible shudder shook him, and he paled as he continued, "Azkaban is no more than I deserve. But you must hear me out first! The Dark Lord has narrowed it down to two boys, the sons of the Longbottoms and…the Potters. He plans to hunt down and kill both families, the Potters first."

"How do you come to know this?" Dumbledore asked.

"There is a raid planned, for tonight. I am to go along. It is an _honor_," Snape spit out the word, his lips twisting as if he had tasted something bitter, "granted me for bringing word of the prophecy."

Dumbledore regarded him steadily. "I too have identified the boys, and they have both been well hidden as a precaution. Where is the raid to take place?" he asked.

"I do not know. It will be revealed when the raiding party assembles. Rumor has it that the information comes from a spy within the Order of the Phoenix," Snape responded. More bad news, Dumbledore thought to himself. If Snape could be believed, that is.

"Rumors are notoriously unreliable, in my experience," Dumbledore observed. Probing for more information, he added, "How came you by this…rumor?"

"I was told by Lucius Malfoy," Snape replied without hesitation. Well, he had certainly been a protégé of Lucius's in school. Dumbledore could believe that they had remained in touch. But Lucius, to lead such a raid? The boy…no, young man…must be lying to him.

"_He_ is to lead the raid?" Dumbledore inquired skeptically.

Snape shook his head forcefully. "No. No, he is too valuable for his contacts and influence; he doesn't do that kind of work. He heard it from his sister-in-law, Bellatrix Lestrange."

Dumbledore nodded his understanding. Yes, that made a lot more sense. The former Miss Black was much more the type to be found fighting on the front lines. So, he had to consider the possibility that Voldemort had managed to recruit a spy in the Order. Not an easy task, that. Dumbledore himself would very much have liked to return the favor, but he could hardly ask someone to join the Death Eaters for him, and turning one was difficult, given the…motivation…Death Eaters had to remain loyal to Voldemort once they joined. He stared pensively out the window. "A spy," he said quietly.

"That is my understanding, yes," Snape replied. "Move the Potters, watch their hiding place, and you will have your proof tonight, if you doubt me." Dumbledore was beginning to think that, despite the black mark against him, he did not, after all, doubt Snape. Still, he needed to know why he had suddenly become the beneficiary of all this information.

"Humor an old man, Severus. Why are you here, in my office, telling me all of this?" Dumbledore inquired.

Snape seemed taken aback at the question. "It's good information, you will see. My reasons are hardly important," he replied.

"You could have tried to Floo me. You could have sent an owl with this warning. You could even have tried to arrange a meeting in a neutral location," Dumbledore pointed out reasonably.

"You might not have come, or, you might not have believed me," Snape replied angrily.

"Fair enough. Well, my word carries some weight at the Ministry," Dumbledore said. "If I explain your reasons to them at your hearing, it might win you a lesser sentence."

Snape said nothing. His lips thinned, and Dumbledore thought he saw a new, stubborn set to his jaw. Apparently, he was far less willing to part with his own secrets than with Voldemort's. Let's see just how unwilling, Dumbledore thought to himself.

"I guess we are finished, then," Dumbledore said after a few moments of silence. He stood up and strode towards the fireplace. "Bartemius Crouch, will, I daresay, find a few minutes to spare for this matter," he said, picking up the china bowl in which he stored his Floo powder. As he reached into the bowl, he turned, and fixed Snape with a penetrating gaze. Snape returned his gaze, his face an unreadable mask. So, mention of the notoriously harsh head of the Auror Office was not enough to shake him. It was time to try a different tack.

"It was so important to you to be believed that you came here, expecting to end up in Azkaban," Dumbledore observed. "For reasons of no importance, you say. Your master can be a subtle wizard at times. I see his hand in this. The supposed urgency of the message, designed only to deny me the time to see the pitfall he is placing at my feet. Yes, perhaps I should instead react in a way he would not expect. I am sure the Potters are perfectly safe where they are hiding. And you are free to leave - to return to Voldemort - though, I _will_ be warning the Ministry about you."

Snape had paled as Dumbledore began speaking, and now sprang up out of his chair. "I was NOT sent!" he shouted indignantly.

"Lord Voldemort will be displeased to hear that your mission to me has failed, but you should have considered this danger when you joined the Death Eaters," Dumbledore said, setting the bowl of Floo powder back down on the mantelpiece.

"No! You must believe me!" protested Snape.

"You expect me to believe you, about a matter of great importance, and yet you are not willing to explain your reasons," Dumbledore said. "I must, then, think of what reasons I can."

Snape dropped his head in defeat. "Very well, sir," he said softly. "I will explain myself. Ask what you will, so long as I have your word you will warn them."

"Thank you. Come, let's sit back down," said Dumbledore, moving back towards the desk. Seated again, the Headmaster eyed Snape thoughtfully. "Let us start with the cause of this mess, then, shall we? Why did you become a Death Eater?"

Snape was sitting again. He spoke in a low voice, his eyes downcast. "My own stupidity sickens me, when I think on it now. I had no reason to join. I deserve whatever happens to me. But not…others."

"No _good_ reason, then. But there must have been, at least, a bad reason?" Dumbledore persisted.

"At school…you remember, the time Black sent me into the tunnel with the werewolf…"

"Yes, quite vividly," Dumbledore agreed. "The fact that you've never, to my knowledge, disclosed Remus's secret may be why I decided to grant this interview. But, back to your explanation."

"After, I was furious. I could imagine nothing worse than what had happened. I could almost laugh to think it, now," he interrupted himself, a bitter smile twisting his face.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, regarding Snape expectantly.

Snape resumed. "Except, that same year, Lily Evans was in NEWT Potions class with me, of course."

"Of course, she is a very gifted young witch," Dumbledore agreed.

"She noticed me. In class, she would ask me for pointers, or share an idea of her own. We both spent a lot of time in the library, studying, and she started to sit down at the table next to me. We talked. I had never met anybody like her. I knew she was becoming close to Potter as well, but I hoped…" Snape trailed off. Dumbledore did not press for an explanation of his hopes.

"Anyway, we all finished school," Snape resumed his narrative in a moment. "She and I lost touch, mostly, though we would still talk occasionally when our paths crossed. Then I happened to read about her upcoming wedding in the _Prophet_. Looking back, I'm sure she never knew-I never dared to tell her-but, anyway, that was when I stopped avoiding Lucius's little hints. Idiot that I am. There's no leaving, once you're in. I've thought about it, often, in the last year."

"So, if I had refused to see you, what would you have done?" Dumbledore asked.

"At first I planned to go on the raid, and see how many of my fellows I could take down. Her knight in shining armor." Snape's face twisted into a horrible smile. "But I knew it would not be enough," Snape's voice broke as he stifled a sob, then he forced out, "and she would die anyway." He bent nearly double in his chair and covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, considering what he had heard. The story was entirely plausible. That Lily had befriended Snape, he actually knew. And, if the story was true, and everything else he had been told was true…the young man was bright, resolute, desperate, and already a Death Eater. He waited, patiently, for Snape to stop crying. A few minutes later, Snape sat back up, his eyes still red, but his expression composed.

Dumbledore smiled at him, his blue eyes twinkling. "Lily has spoken well of you to me, on occasion. I believe you. You may consider the Potters warned."

A relieved sigh escaped Snape. "Thank you," he said fervently.

"You are welcome," Dumbledore replied. He paused for a moment to choose his next words carefully. "But I have a proposition for you, as well. I can offer you a sort of escape from the Death Eaters."

Snape frowned at Dumbledore, looking puzzled.

"It will not protect you from Voldemort," Dumbledore said. He saw Snape wince at the name.

"It will not keep you from seeing terrible things," he continued. "The danger to you will only be greater, should you accept my offer."

As Dumbledore spoke, Snape's eyes narrowed in thought, and then widened, his mouth gaping open as comprehension dawned. The young man really _was_ quick, Dumbledore noted, pleased.

"In a few short minutes you have confirmed my suspicions about two Death Eaters, and brought me the news that there is a spy in the Order. Your warning about tonight's raid may save three lives. If you are willing, I would send you back to the Death Eaters as my spy-"

"Yes," breathed Snape, interrupting Dumbledore's explanation, as more tears welled up in his eyes. "Yes, I will do it."

Fawkes the phoenix let out a low, soft, musical cry. Dumbledore suppressed a smile of satisfaction. He looked down at his watch again.

"In that case," Dumbledore said, tossing Snape his wand, "you will still be needing this." Snape caught it in the air and put it away inside his robes.

"I have a busy evening in front of me," he continued, getting up from his desk. "There are arrangements to make. When is the raid to take place?"

"We are meeting at ten P. M.," Snape replied, rising as well.

"Good to know," said Dumbledore, as he walked over to the door. Snape followed him.

"We definitely have more to discuss, but now is not the time. May I get back to you at the Owl Post Office?"

"Yes. I will be sure to check it a couple of times a day," Snape replied.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, extending his right hand. Snape stood for a moment, a surprised look on his face, then extended his own. Dumbledore grasped it firmly and they shook hands.

"Good day, then," Dumbledore said with a smile, as he opened the door to usher out his guest. "And…take care." Snape nodded.

"Good day," he said, turning back for a moment before walking down the spiral staircase to the hallway.


	5. The Raid

**Chapter 5: The Raid**

After taking his leave of Professor Dumbledore, Snape walked down the spiral staircase and out into the halls of Hogwarts. He had to resist an urge to pinch himself…surely he would find he had dozed off over a cauldron in the back of Madam Sophronia's after his sleepless night. Most importantly, he had secured Dumbledore's help to foil the night's raid. He had refused even to consider the possibility of failure, but it was nonetheless a huge relief. The sense of unreality, however, came more from the final development in the conversation. He was not now in the custody of a pair of Aurors, bound for some white-walled holding cell in a subbasement of the Ministry of Magic. Instead, he was now working on their side, if unofficially.

With these thoughts, he reached the gates of the school, and Apparated back to Knockturn Alley. As he turned in to the narrow passageway between Madam Sophronia's and the second-hand shop next door, he recalled suddenly that he had not bothered to inform his employer of his final, and longest, absence of the day. There hadn't seemed any point to it, as he had been certain he would not be coming back. However, if his room and board was not going to be provided by the Office of Magical Law Enforcement, he needed his job.

He opened the back door quietly, casting a quick Silencio on the squeaky hinges before they could announce his return. His precaution was in vain, however.

"Severus!" shouted Madam Sophronia, placing her left fist on her hip and glowering down at him from the stool on which she was standing. "What are you playing at? You've been in and out all day." She waved the long-handled spoon with which she had been stirring the Veritaserum antidote at the door for emphasis as she spoke, splattering him with the potion. Wiping the drops off his face, Snape noted with chagrin that it had gone from the lime green color he had achieved earlier to a sickly puce that was decidedly not the color of any stage of the correctly made potion.

"Now you disappeared for almost two hours, without even telling me," his employer continued. Thrusting the spoon in his direction, she added, "You _know_ this potion needs regular stirring in this phase! The shop has been very busy, so I have not been able to do it, not to mention that I had no idea you weren't doing it. I am trying to salvage this batch since I have a free moment, but it is going to take hours to put straight after your neglect. Moreover, we're out of Pepper-Up Potion. It must be the cold spell that is bringing in the customers."

She stopped, to take a breath, Snape supposed, as she had not paused for a moment during her tirade. Snape looked up at her, unsure what to say. She was right, his neglect of his duties was inexcusable in an employee. He would never have contemplated such an action under less serious circumstances. They weren't exactly circumstances he could introduce to explain himself, though.

'Well, what have you to say for yourself?" she demanded, frustrated by his lack of response. "Give me one good reason I should not simply give you the sack!"

"I can put that antidote back to rights, and get more Pepper-Up Potion brewed tonight," Snape offered.

"Humph. How do you like that, no apologies," Sophronia said in a more natural speaking voice. "But I suppose you can, at that," she added with a hint of a smile, setting down the spoon. "See that you do."

"Yes, Ma'am," Snape muttered, extending a hand to help her down from the stool. She swept out, leaving him to his work, as the front door opened, admitting yet another customer.

Getting the Veritaserum antidote back on track had to be his first priority. He needed to meet Bellatrix and the rest of her team in a mere five hours. If he didn't have it past the finicky lime-green stage and on towards the amber phase, it would deteriorate again in his absence.

Resignedly, he picked up the spoon and started stirring the potion. It was going to be a tedious few hours. He estimated he could get it close enough to where he needed it to be so he could get a start on the Pepper-Up potion as well before he had to leave. If, that is, he didn't make a single error.

He needed to forget the events of the last twenty-four hours. What would happen later tonight was beyond his control at present. Closing his eyes, he cleared his mind of all extraneous thoughts, replacing each memory with an image of the potion he was working on. When he felt calmer, he reopened his eyes to watch his progress. For the next three hours, he paid strict attention to his work and forgot all of his worries. He was startled out of this near trance to find Madam Sophronia at his elbow, trying for a peek at the potion.

"It'll be ready for the pickled livers in no time!" she exclaimed admiringly. "You sure have a nice hand with the potions, Severus. Well, I've closed up the shop and I'll be leaving. Don't forget to lock up when you are finished."

"I will," Snape responded. "Good evening."

"Good evening," Madam Sophronia said with a wave as she bustled out the back door.

In another hour, as he had expected, the potion began to stabilize. Carefully, he measured out the proper quantity of pickled livers from the jar his employer had left out on the workbench, and watched with satisfaction as the color began to change to pale amber. The color would deepen over the next several days, but the potion would no longer require regular attention.

Quickly, he set up a second cauldron and started to toss in the ingredients for the cold medicine. He really needed more time than he had left, but the prize if he somehow won the race against time would be worth the effort. He knew he _really_ would not want to have to drag himself back to the shop after he was done with the failed raid, an after-action meeting with a doubtless angry Dark Lord, and a quick trip to Hogsmeade to check his post office box. He worked with a will, stirring rapidly and tossing in ingredients with abandon. Fortunately, it was one of the more forgiving recipes. With five minutes to spare, the potion was ready.

Quickly he Vanished the mess he had made in his haste and locked up the shop. He conjured a mask and put up his hood before Apparating outside of the barn.

"Glad you could make it," Bellatrix said sarcastically as Snape walked in. "What, a sack of flour attacked you on your way here?" Looking down, Snape realized he had forgotten about his black robes, which were dusted with powdered Potions ingredients in a variety of pale colors. He could feel his face heating under his mask, but he kept his movements slow as he Vanished the mess with a single nonverbal spell.

"Merely a late night on the job, Bellatrix, not that you would know about that," he replied smoothly.

She looked as if she wanted to make some further retort, but then appeared to think better of it. Instead, she commanded one of the others to produce a layout of the property where the Potters were living, and began to outline her plan of attack. She had relegated him to the backup team, he saw. No surprise there. Since Lucius had suggested him for the job, she would want to make sure he was where he had little chance of achieving anything. Of course, he smiled inwardly as he listened to her orders, tonight, none of them would be winning any glory….

"Very well, you have your orders," Bellatrix concluded her briefing. "We will now all Portkey to the rendezvous point. I don't want the noise of anybody's botched Apparition alerting them. Anyone who makes a sound will regret it." A threat of substance - among the Death Eaters it was rumored that her Cruciatus Curse was second only to the Dark Lord's.

The group gathered around the empty bottle of firewhisky Bellatrix indicated, and grabbed onto it at her command. Abruptly, Snape felt a most alarming sensation of being pulled upwards, navel-first, into a swirling, howling maelstrom of light. His fingers felt as if they had fused with the bottle. Then, he felt as if he were falling, and felt himself land awkwardly in the grass. Hastily he stood back up and looked around. He could see the house over the hedge behind which they all had landed. Lights in the ground floor were still on, casting a cheerful yellow glow. Snape watched from behind the hedge as one of the three members of the specialist team cast an anti-Apparition jinx and Floo-Blocking Curse on the area in preparation for the attack, to ensure the victims could not get away, except on foot. Pairs of Death Eaters Disillusioned one another and crept off to surround the property from all four sides, to cut off even that possibility of escape. Snape and his partner stayed behind, with orders to join any party that seemed to need extra assistance, until the rest of the teams had made it into the house.

Finally, Bellatrix and her partner headed for the house. They burst through the door, planning to scare those within into fleeing to the unseen watchers outside. However, no sound of running or shouting resulted.

"Everyone in!" Bellatrix commanded, furious. Snape and his partner joined the others. "Search the house from top to bottom. Remember, Potter is an expert at Transfiguration!"

Snape headed up the stairs. The first door he opened was to the master bedroom. A large bed with a pine headboard stood at the far end. A pair of his fellow Death Eaters pushed past him and strode over to the bed, blasting it out of the way to check whether anyone was hiding underneath, before reducing it to splinters to make sure it wasn't one of the Potters Transfigured into a bed. Snape heard wood splintering as they moved on to the matching wardrobe in the corner.

His own eyes were drawn to a small dressing table and matching upholstered chair, which could plainly not hide anybody. On it lay a single sheet of pale pink notepaper, with hastily scrawled notes in a hand he recognized all too well. He folded the note up and tucked it away, just as a spell shattered the mirror above the table. Casting a hasty spell of his own to deflect the shards of glass, Snape turned angrily on the caster of the spell.

"Idiot! What was that for?" he demanded.

"It is big enough that it could have been the baby," the man answered angrily, turning his own wand on Snape. Snape shook his head disgustedly pushed past him to go find Bellatrix. The contents of the note were bringing back the sense of elated relief he had felt earlier that afternoon. Dumbledore was, it appeared, a cunning wizard…the Potters had left, and it would appear to the Dark Lord to have been merely an unfortunate coincidence.

Bellatrix was overseeing the search from the sitting room downstairs. One of the three specialists was speaking with her. Apparently, they were discussing the possibility of more elaborate uses of Transfiguration to create a hidden chamber. He waited for a pause in their conversation, but none seemed forthcoming. After a few minutes, as Bellatrix seemed to be ignoring him, Snape decided to interrupt.

"I don't think they are here, Bellatrix," Snape said quietly. She and the other Death Eater turned to look at him.

"How can you be so sure? You may despise Potter, but he's a crack wizard in Transfiguration," she said dismissively.

"Well, the Mudblood knows her Potions," Snape countered. The word tasted bitter on his lips, but he forged on. "I found this upstairs in the bedroom, left out on her dressing-table. It is a remedy for a minor magical skin ailment - the dosage listed would be considerably under strength for an adult. Underlined below is the phrase Dragon Pox. If they suspected the baby had Dragon Pox, and not a simple rash, they would take him straight to St. Mungo's. It can be quite serious in babies if not treated aggressively."

"You sound very sure of this," said the specialist skeptically. Snape ignored the question and looked pointedly at Bellatrix.

"On matters related to Potions, he will have his facts straight," Bellatrix conceded.

"Nobody left the house this evening? You are sure?" Bellatrix inquired, turning to a man standing behind her.

"As I said, Bella. A young witch came to visit at around six, left a bit before eight, and then nothing. All three of the Potters saw her off when she left, nobody has come or gone since," he replied.

"They could have Flooed," the unknown Death Eater suggested, walking towards the brick fireplace. He drew his wand out, and took a pinch of Floo powder out of a vase on the mantelpiece. As he muttered an incantation, he made a few elaborate passes of his wand before he tossed the powder into the fireplace. A vague green flash appeared, which he seemed to study intently for a few moments as it faded.

Turning back to Bellatrix, he opined, "Two people Flooed out a few seconds apart, maybe two, maybe three hours ago."

"Everybody downstairs!" she shouted. Obedient to her orders, everyone trooped back into the sitting room. She sent six of them back outside to watch for anyone coming to the house, Snape among them.

Disillusioning himself again, he walked outside to his assigned post. Standing alone in the dark, he wondered how long Bellatrix would mess about before admitting to herself that the raid had been a complete failure. The thought that this failure was in large part due to his own actions gave him a thrill of satisfaction. Soon the Potters would be hiding somewhere else. Voldemort might set his mysterious spy to ferret out the new location, but there was no guarantee he would succeed. Also, now that the danger was made manifest, the Potters would be more careful.

As the reality of his success sank in, Snape felt a return of the almost giddy feeling of relief he had experienced upon leaving Dumbledore's office that afternoon. To pass the time, Snape reran the night's events in his mind, with an emphasis on facts and suppositions that might be the most useful to Dumbledore. The man watching the house has been Rodolphus Lestrange, Snape felt reasonably sure, he had recognized the voice. So he was a Death Eater as well, Snape mused. Not at all surprising, given that he was Bellatrix's husband. Probably his younger brother Rabastan, too, was one of those present. It would make sense for him to be a member of Bellatrix's team as well; the two brothers had been inseparable from one another, and from Bellatrix, at school, Snape recalled.

More useful could be to figure out who the three additional Death Eaters were. The one who had cast the anti-Apparition jinx and verified the Potters had Flooed out was most interesting. His knowledge of specialized magic relating to travel and communication suggested he was at the very least Ministry-trained, if not a current Ministry employee. All three were men - the one he had not heard speak was half a head taller than Snape and considerably wider.

As Snape strove to recall any details of their manner that might help others to identify them, his thoughts were interrupted. The Dark Mark on his left forearm burned, indicating he was again summoned to Lord Voldemort's side. Hastily, Snape strode back to the point where the team had arrived by Portkey. It ought to be past the limits of the anti-Apparition jinx, in the event Bellatrix had not yet ordered it removed. He was alone, he noticed with some disquiet; either the others had Apparated from where they stood, or the summons was for him alone. Focusing on the Dark Lord's summons, he Disapparated.


	6. A Hard Won Victory

**Chapter 6: A Hard-Won Victory**

Guided by his Dark Mark, Snape Apparated into an unfamiliar room, furnished richly in an old-fashioned style. It was lit dimly by candles placed in bronze sconces on the wood-paneled walls. Snape spun about quickly, to find the Dark Lord standing behind a wing-backed chair upholstered in dark velvet, his back to a fireplace flanked by windows with matching velvet drapes. Only his eyes were visible in the gloom. They glowed red, like the embers of the fire behind him.

Bellatrix stood to the right, her too-pale face drawn and tight. It seemed to Snape that she was surreptitiously leaning against the matching wing-backed chair in front of which she was standing. The Death Eater whose spell had confirmed the Potters' departure by Floo stood close to her. All three had their eyes on Snape.

"Master," Snape said, hastily dropping to one knee and bending his head over the other. "You summoned me?"

"Indeed," Voldemort replied softly, in a voice that seemed almost a hiss. "Bellatrix has given me her account of tonight's…blunders. I believe you can shed some light on the matter?"

His eyes still on the faded Oriental rug beneath him, Snape hesitated, his mind racing. How could they know so soon? Could they? Surely not…bluffing, regardless, was his wisest move. He would have to make eye contact, though. The thought of those glowing red eyes, a sure indication of the Dark Lord's anger, filled him with dread, and, out of old habit, he found himself recalling yet again the night of Letitia McKinnon's death.

"My Lord?" he asked, raising his eyes to meet Voldemort's gaze. A shudder he could not quite suppress ran down his spine as those pitiless eyes seemed to bore into him.

"Bellatrix tells me that you discovered the reason for the Potters' departure," said Voldemort, his eyes flashing dangerously. Of course…the note, Snape realized, keeping his face still. Hoping that he was hiding his relief well, he stood and walked up to the claw-footed mahogany coffee table the two chairs flanked, and offered Lily's note to the Dark Lord.

"Yes, My Lord. I found this in the bedroom. It is in the hand of Lily Potter," he explained. Voldemort grasped the offered paper in his long, thin fingers. Wordlessly he lit the tip of his wand and held it over the paper to examine it, revealing his gaunt and snakelike face. Extinguishing his wand, he tossed the note down onto the table in front of Snape.

"The ingredients would have a soothing effect," Voldemort stated quietly. "You are sure the dosage is right for an infant?"

"Yes, My Lord," Snape said firmly, "I make such potions at work, on occasion." As Voldemort fixed him with a penetrating gaze, a sudden sensation of transparency gripped him. He shivered involuntarily and glanced away.

"Look at me!" Voldemort ordered dangerously. "In what way are Dragon Pox more dangerous to infants?" As Snape forced himself to hold the Dark Lord's gaze, he felt an uncanny sensation of…something…rummaging about in his mind. He concentrated on remembering where he had read that bit of information.

"There is a significantly higher mortality rate in patients under the age of two," Snape said. "A recent issue of-"

"Enough!" Voldemort said, and the sensation receded. "I have no need to read a treatise on the subject; I know that you are telling the truth." Snape suppressed a sigh of relief, but Voldemort had already switched his attention to the other Death Eater.

"And why did you not check the Floo as your first step?" he demanded, as he swept past Snape to face the Death Eater directly. The man dropped to his knees in front of Voldemort, whose tall, thin form loomed above him.

"My Lord, I – I was casting spells to reveal the Potters-" the man responded fearfully.

"Who had already left!" Voldemort whispered, his eyes blazing.

"Yes, that is, I was following my orders-"

With the swiftness of a striking snake, Voldemort's wand was pointed at the Death Eater.

"Crucio!" Voldemort said coldly. The Death Eater curled up into a ball, shrieking horribly. Snape watched, afraid to look away, his stomach writhing in sympathy. Unable to look any longer, he glanced towards Bellatrix. She, too, was watching the punishment of the Death Eater, her face still pale and fearful, but her eyes glowing fanatically as she looked on the Dark Lord and his victim. Hastily Snape looked back down to avoid her eyes. He had a shrewd idea now, though, why she was leaning on that chair. It did not bode well for him, he reflected.

Voldemort raised his wand, and the Death Eater lay gasping on the ground.

"I have already…discussed…your orders with Bellatrix. See that, in the future, you give better advice," he said coldly.

The man pulled himself painfully to his knees.

"Oh, yes, Master…thank you…"

Voldemort spun back around to face Snape, who flinched.

"And you," Voldemort said softly, "Bellatrix tells me that you actually stood around watching the destruction of the house instead of bringing the note straight to her. Explain yourself!" His voice rose menacingly.

"Master, the house was already a complete shambles by the time I found the note and returned back downstairs," Snape answered truthfully, as anger at Bellatrix joined the mixture of fear and revulsion he felt. His answer was a trifle too heated, he realized as he saw the tip of the Dark Lord's wand start to drop.

"Crucio!" Voldemort said.

It was unimaginable, unbearable, overwhelming. Snape felt as if his entire body had spontaneously burst into flame. As the pain continued, he felt certain that he could take no more, that he would black out in the next instant. Yet, impossibly, it continued, and he endured, for what seemed an eternity. Then, abruptly, it was over. Snape found himself lying on the floor, next to the coffee table. Struggling to control his breathing, which was still coming in great shuddering gasps, he raised himself up onto his knees, facing Voldemort.

"Your incompetence and lack of foresight have caused this failure," Voldemort said in a cold voice, looking upon the three Death Eaters in the room in turn. "See that you serve me better, in the future. You may leave me now."

Snape, who was now closest to Voldemort, lurched forward on his knees to grasp the hem of Voldemort's robe and kiss it in leave-taking.

"I will, Master," he said hoarsely. Summoning his willpower, he stood up with a suppressed groan and backed away, as the unknown Death Eater approached. Apparition seemed like a really bad idea; on the other hand, he clearly had no other option. Tucking his mask away as he spun on his heel, and wondering what the effect on the spell would be if he fell down, he Disapparated.

He materialized and collapsed against a brick wall. The effect of losing one's balance while Disapparating appeared to be that one collapsed upon Apparation. Logical…

Taking stock, he saw that he had, indeed, arrived in Diagon Alley, and was seated on the pavement with his back against the brick façade of Madam Malkin's Robes. It was long past the closing time of the shops, so the street was deserted. His body was still shaking, an aftereffect of the Dark Lord's punishment.

So, that was the Cruciatus Curse. Having now experienced it first-hand, Snape could certainly agree that it ought to be considered Unforgivable. He had seen it before, and that memory haunted him, but no exercise of his imagination could have prepared him for the reality. His punishment had, he realized, lasted only a minute or two, like the punishment of the other Death Eater that he had witnessed. If the Dark Lord had had any inkling…Snape knew, he had seen, that a person could survive hours of such torment… Yet, even as his thoughts dwelt on his old, familiar fear made real, as he sat there alone, away from the Dark Lord, he found that the feeling of relief he had felt that afternoon, and after the failed raid, was creeping back. Gathering himself, he stood up and turned left towards the entrance to Knockturn Alley.

He was in a peculiar state of mind. The encounter with the Dark Lord left him shaking and weak; yet, now that he was out of that fearsome presence, the euphoria of the raid was back. The complete and glorious failure of that operation almost made him want to laugh out loud, and the very best part of it was the knowledge that he, himself, had played an important role in its failure. And more: while he had paid a price for the failure, that had been random, the result of Bellatrix's spite and the Dark Lord's desire to vent his anger on all available targets. His true role, it appeared, was unsuspected, and could remain so if he managed to play his role well. He had achieved his goal, he had won, and, the thought came to him, he might do so again. He would like that, he realized.

Returning to his room, Snape took off his cloak and hung it on its peg near the door. He knew his body needed sleep, but his mind was racing. In the past months he had felt himself grow increasingly lethargic. He had lost the burning desire to get a position at the Ministry or St. Mungo's which he had felt upon his initial failure, and stopped thinking much about his future. A particularly interesting Dark Arts problem or tricky bit of potion-making might consume him for a time. But that was it.

This evening, on the other hand, he felt more alive than he had in years. While tired, his mind teemed with ideas and plans. He would live to report the events of the raid to Dumbledore, an outcome he realized he had doubted. He had so much other information which might be potentially useful. People he knew were Death Eaters, people he had met at Lucius's, the projects he had worked on. And more information to try and ferret out. Who were the men that had helped out with the advanced magic during the raid? Who was the Dark Lord's spy? Would the Potters be safe? He could probably sound Lucius out about that one, carefully, in a little while. His hatred of James was a reasonable excuse….

In fact, he could start right now, he realized, taking a seat at his desk. He unrolled a blank piece of parchment, picked up a quill, and started writing.

Perhaps an hour later, he stopped, as the roll of parchment was full. In his small, cramped hand he had listed every detail of the raid that he could recall. He had gone on to try and list all of the Death Eaters he remembered meeting. The few he had recognized and knew by name he had identified; for the others, he had tried to jot down any peculiarities of their appearance or manner. After the ink dried, he re-rolled it and with a wave of his wand, caused the writing to disappear.

His mind was still racing, but the shaking and weakness he had felt since his experience of the Cruciatus Curse were getting worse; in addition to which his neck and hand were cramping. He could not get it all down in one night; it was enough for now. Wearily, he lowered himself onto his bed, remembering suddenly that he had not practiced his Occlumency exercises recently. Something he would not neglect again.

Lying back with his eyes closed, he tried to clear his mind of the impressions of the last forty-eight hours. Lucius, learning of the raid, Dumbledore, the raid, The Dark Lord's anger…they would not go away, however much he tried. Though the attempt did, finally, calm him down sufficiently to fall into a fitful sleep with horrible dreams he could not later recall.


	7. A New Beginning

**Chapter 7: A New Beginning**

Dumbledore sat alone in his booth at the back of the dingy pub, a pint of dark ale in his hands. Despite his trademark half-moon glasses, he rather doubted that any of his students would recognize him. It was highly unlikely that any of them would happen by here, except, of course, for the one with whom he had an appointment. His luxuriant facial hair appeared to be neatly trimmed to not more than an inch in length, and his hair appeared to be cut short. A trivial effort of Transfiguration, along with the purple sweatsuit and trainers into which he had transformed his robes and shoes. He could have easily changed the color as well, but he was fond of purple. Muggles, too, tolerated some eccentricity in their elders, he reasoned.

As he took a small sip from his glass, the door of the pub opened, admitting the noonday sunlight. The young man who stepped in wore his greasy black hair parted in shoulder-length curtains on either side of his face. Though he had made no effort to alter his appearance, the style looked fitting atop the leather jacket, dark turtleneck, and faded dungarees he was wearing. Dumbledore smiled approvingly and waved to draw his attention, and the young man strode towards the back of the pub. He had expected no less – he remembered well that Snape, for it was he, had a Muggle father and had grown up in a Muggle neighborhood not unlike the one in which this pub was situated.

The dark rings under his reddened eyes made Snape look even more haggard than he had the previous afternoon. Yet today his carriage suggested confidence; his back straight, his stride long, he swept the smoky pub with his eyes as he walked.

Snape's face was unreadable as he took in Dumbledore's appearance, though his jaw tightened as he lowered himself somewhat gingerly into the other side of the booth. Dumbledore filed Snape's apparent stiffness away for later consideration, and suppressed his mild disappointment at Snape's lack of even a hint of surprise or admiration for his fine Muggle disguise. Then again, he consoled himself, this unflappability was doubtless an asset in a spy.

"Good to see you!" said Dumbledore affably. Snape nodded acknowledgement as the barman approached.

"What'll you have?" the barman asked.

"Same as he's having," Snape replied curtly.

They sat together in silence as the barman returned to the bar to draw another pint, then returned and set it down in front of Snape. Dumbledore raised his glass at Snape and took a sip of his ale.

"Thanks," Snape said to the barman, and took a long swallow.

"I hope you don't mind our meeting here," said Dumbledore, setting down his pint.

"You are right that our other meeting place has its disadvantages," Snape said obliquely. Dumbledore smiled.

"We may speak freely, Severus," Dumbledore assured him with a smile. "I have seen to it that we will not be overheard."

"In that case, Professor Dumbledore, this is a far better choice than Hogwarts. My fellows would avoid both the company and the ale here," Snape replied. Was that a joke? Dumbledore rather thought it was.

"But you, I see, have no difficulty fitting in here," Dumbledore observed, raising his glass. Snape nodded, he face becoming more guarded again. His Muggle background was not a fact he preferred to dwell on, Dumbledore deduced.

"We left a lot unsaid yesterday, after you accepted my offer. I thought we might start, today, by clarifying our expectations," Dumbledore said. Snape took a sip of his ale as he listened, then set down his mug in silence.

"What did you expect when you accepted my little proposition?" Dumbledore asked.

"I hadn't given it any thought, sir," Snape responded.

Dumbledore waited, regarding him steadily over his half-moon glasses.

"I was shocked that you would make me such an offer," Snape added after a few moments.

"And now that you have had a bit of time to think about things?" Dumbledore prompted.

"I told you what I am; I put my freedom, and my life, in your hands when I did. I will accept whatever terms you deem fair," Snape replied.

"You regret your choice, then?" Dumbledore inquired. Snape's face darkened.

"No!" he said, shaking his head. "No, that's not how I meant it. I expected you to turn me in, and instead …" Snape trailed off. "You gave me my life back. I really want to do this, Professor Dumbledore. Your terms don't matter to me."

"Very well, Severus," said Dumbledore. "I would nonetheless like to make them clear." Snape's expression brightened, and his black eyes focused attentively on Dumbledore.

"First, you understand I do not make this offer in any official capacity?" Dumbledore asked.

"I approached you as the leader of the Order," Snape agreed.

"So you understand, should you face prosecution at some point for any past crimes, I could involve myself in your case only as a private citizen?" Dumbledore added.

"Yes," Snape replied curtly, his face going blank again. So there _were_ particular crimes in his past, Dumbledore deduced with regret. He would learn about Snape's crimes in due time, he supposed.

"Finally, the information you provide may put you at risk of discovery. I will do what I can to hide the source, but if I feel I must act on it, I will," Dumbledore said.

"I found Lily's note, during the raid. The Dark Lord believes we failed only because of an unfortunate coincidence," Snape said. He paused to take another drink, then set his glass down precisely on the ring that had formed under it while they talked.

"I had not expected that," Snape added.

"That I would take the precaution of providing an alternate explanation for the Potters' flight?" Dumbledore clarified. Snape nodded.

"So you trust I will do what I can to protect you from Voldemort," Dumbledore said. Snape started at the name, but then recovered.

"Yes," Snape said.

"I would like this to be a long-term arrangement, Severus," Dumbledore continued, choosing his words carefully. "This will be difficult. You must try to stay away from Voldemort as much as you can. If he speaks to you now, he is bound to learn you have met with me. How long do you think you can avoid him?"

"You mean, because he is a Legilimens," Snape said flatly. "I have been practicing Occlumency for months." Interesting, that, Dumbledore thought, taking a long slow drink from his mug as he mused. What had prompted Snape to undertake the study of that obscure branch of magic?

"It cannot be learned properly alone, and it is obvious unless done in a very subtle way," Dumbledore warned. The young man could not possibly be proficient enough to fool Lord Voldemort at this stage. Perhaps he had advanced sufficiently in his self-study to escape suspicion long enough to learn properly.

"As I said-I was the one who found Lily's note during the raid," Snape said. "When Bellatrix gave her after-action report to the Dark Lord, I and another Death Eater were summoned to appear before him to explain our roles in person. He was angry. He read us all. I do not believe he saw anything unexpected in my mind."

"Remarkable," Dumbledore said. His newly recruited spy had some unsuspected talents…or was he merely overconfident? "I would like to hear the details of this meeting, to judge for myself. What happened when you arrived?"

"He asked me to explain why the raid had failed. I immediately thought I had been found out. I focused on a single memory, one I often think of, before looking up at him and asking for clarification," Snape explained.

"And you don't think he could tell what you were doing?" Dumbledore probed.

"I have used that memory before, around him. It…makes sense, for me to be thinking about it, sir," Snape said, appearing to choose his words carefully. Absently, he cupped his glass in his hands as he spoke.

"I see. It so happens that I, too, am something of a Legilimens. I would like you to try this with me, now," Dumbledore said.

Snape flushed and looked away.

"You understand the need to study Occlumency, surely?" Dumbledore asked rhetorically. "To help you with this, I will need to assess your present capabilities." Snape turned slowly back to face Dumbledore. His hands clenched the glass as he raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's.

Dumbledore gazed over his half-moon spectacles into Snape's cold black eyes. As he concentrated, he could sense a storm of emotions: shame, disgust, fear, guilt. He saw, suddenly, a group of masked and hooded Death Eaters surrounding a young woman who lay on the ground, writhing and screaming. With a shock, he recognized Letitia McKinnon.

More forcefully than he had intended, he probed further. For a moment, he found himself watching Lord Voldemort as he tortured a masked Death Eater whose hood had been dislodged to reveal shoulder-length black hair, before the image vanished completely, replaced by a wall that resisted any further incursion.

Releasing the spell, Dumbledore again looked on the face of his companion, now beaded with sweat and white with strain. Snape took a long drink of his ale.

"That is an impressive block, Severus, I am not sure I could have broken through it," Dumbledore complimented him. "You realize, of course, that Voldemort would not bother."

Snape flinched at the mention of the name, and his right hand briefly touched his left forearm. His lip curled, before he deliberately grasped his glass again with both hands.

"Yes," he replied curtly.

"I see we have a lot to discuss," Dumbledore commented.

"It…I was a member of the team that killed Letitia McKinnon," Snape admitted.

"And you did not see fit to warn anyone about _her_?" Dumbledore asked sternly. Snape flushed.

"I didn't know," he mumbled.

"You did not know the Death Eaters were going to kill her?" Dumbledore asked skeptically.

"I knew there was a mission, I was ordered to join it. But I did not know where we were going, or what exactly we were ordered to do..." Snape hesitated.

"And so you went, and you killed her," Dumbledore finished. Snape nodded.

"How many were you?" Dumbledore asked.

"A team of six, and me. Seven," Snape responded.

"I see. The Unforgivable Curses. It's an automatic life sentence you would be facing, then. So, which was it? The Killing Curse, or just Cruciatus?"

"I didn't do anything. Any spells, that is," Snape explained.

"You needn't lie to me," Dumbledore reminded him gently. "I am not turning you over to the Ministry."

"I just watched them do it," Snape insisted. Glancing down at the mug he clutched in his hands, he added more quietly, "I was, I am, afraid. Of them, of the same thing happening to me."

"And this is why you took up the study of Occlumency?" Dumbledore guessed. Snape nodded.

"That memory is a dangerous one for you to have used," Dumbledore remarked. "You are not able to shut down the feelings you have about it. I could sense your revulsion and shame quite clearly, I am afraid."

"It is different, with the Dark Lord. The fear is not there, with you," Snape said. "I tried to recall it, but it is not the same as when he is near." And the shame and revulsion you must have learned to bury deep, around the Death Eaters, Dumbledore thought to himself.

"I see. Why would you not use the second memory I saw?" Dumbledore inquired.

"That one is new," Snape said flatly.

"And yet you think he did not find you out?" Dumbledore asked. The haggard look and the stiffness which had been apparent as Snape seated himself were explained, now.

"He was angry, as I said. He punished all of us. The other Death Eater who was there, and Bellatrix. Actually, I did not see her punishment, but by the time I arrived, she looked pale and terrified, and could barely stand. He blamed all of us for the failure," Snape said.

"Perhaps you are right," Dumbledore said. There was a little silence.

"Severus, in the future, I do not want to learn of an incident like this by accident," Dumbledore said quietly, peering at Snape over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "For your own safety, I am telling no one else of our arrangement, but you are not in this alone. You saw yourself, last night, that steps can be taken to deflect suspicion from you, but I cannot act if I am not aware of the need. You are to keep me apprised of any notable event in your interactions with the Death Eaters, whether or not you think it is related to your activities on my behalf. Do you understand?" Dumbledore asked, fixing Snape with blue eyes that lacked their customary sparkle.

"I do," Snape responded. Dumbledore kept his eyes on him, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. After a few moments, Snape spoke up.

"Sir, I will do as you ask."

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I would be interested in learning more about the raid, but I do realize you need to return to work soon…"

Snape reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and brought out a roll of parchment and his wand.

"I wrote down all the details I could remember yesterday night," he explained to Dumbledore, as he tapped the parchment with his wand.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "I can look it over later." He picked up the parchment and tucked it away inside his purple velour sweat jacket.

"That's all for now, then?" Snape asked

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "I will want to meet with you regularly, for the next few weeks. Your grasp of Occlumency is impressive for one self-taught, but we will need to work hard at it if you are to escape detection indefinitely. This will also be an opportunity for you to tell me of any new developments that arise, and for me to ask any questions I may have after I read this," Dumbledore said, tapping the parchment inside his jacket.

Snape rose awkwardly to his feet, and dropped a few Muggle coins onto the scratched and grimy table.

"I'll await your Owl, then?" he asked.

"Yes, Severus, that will be fine," Dumbledore agreed. "Good day!"

"Good day, sir," Snape replied, and strode towards the exit.

Dumbledore leaned back and took a sip of his ale. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out the parchment and started reading the small, cramped writing on it. His spectacles were really not up to the task of reading the minuscule handwriting which covered the sheet entirely, he reflected, as he surreptitiously flicked his wand. Now each line appeared to double in size as he read it. Much better…

A half-hour later, the mug of ale was empty, and Dumbledore rolled the parchment back up, making a point of first hiding its contents with a silent spell. A remarkable document, he mused. It spoke of an excellent memory, extraordinary eye for detail, and an ability to apply logic that was quite rare among wizards. And it had been written last night, as its author recovered from Voldemort's punishment. Dumbledore smiled. Time would tell, but it certainly seemed the young man was turning out to be quite a stroke of luck for the Order. What a peculiar branch of the magical arts was Divination, he reflected. For by his murderous impulse to destroy the baby mentioned in the prophecy, Voldemort had unwittingly created a traitor among his own followers, and driven him straight into Dumbledore's hands.

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

I have started a sequel, also posted in this site, and very creatively named "Unintended Consequences 2".


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